


You're a Good Man Google+

by fandomfan



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: Cybersex, Dirty Talk, Multi, Porn Battle, Prompt Fic, Threesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-28
Updated: 2013-01-28
Packaged: 2017-11-27 06:36:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/658993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fandomfan/pseuds/fandomfan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will one of you douchenozzles enlighten me as to why I am included in what I assume is your regularly scheduled check-in, jerk-off online homo hour?</p>
            </blockquote>





	You're a Good Man Google+

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompts _winning_ and _douchenozzle_.

"Of all the Google Plus Hangouts in all the computers in all the world," Ray greets in his best Bogart as a window with his face in it joins Nate's and Brad's along the bottom of the screen.

From their camera feeds, Ray can tell that Nate's at home and Brad's in the kind of nondescript military establishment that could be just about anywhere around the globe.

"Person," Brad says with one of his usual expressionless nods. "Same inbred, popular-culture-defiling, excuse for a womb dropping as ever." The window with his face in it takes over the main frame on Ray's screen as he speaks, and Ray can see Brad is fighting to suppress a grin.

"Kisses to you, too, sweetums," Ray answers, beaming.

"Hi, Ray," Nate says, and the Hangout interface returns Brad's face to the bottom of the screen and brings up Nate's, large and smiling. It's a nice smile in a really fuckin' nice mouth. There's a reason Ray used to try to make it happen as much as possible.

"Nate," Ray acknowledges. "How's tricks in the world of the muckety-mucks?" he asks. "'Specially while your man's off getting his frighteningly oversized, glandular-malfunction-is-not-a-joke ass shot at in"—and here he makes his voice go robotic monotone like a government censor—"UNDISCLOSED LOCATION?"

Brad interjects, "If by 'undisclosed location' you mean Kandahar, and if by 'getting his perfectly proportional and highly desirable ass shot at' you mean advising new officers on how to work with their ANA colleagues."

"Whatever, Recon Rambo," Ray dismisses with a wave of his hand. "That's what you'd say if you were hiding out in some haji hut as the last surviving Marine in the Middle East."

Nate jumps in. "Actually, Ray, this time it's not a cover story. And since Brad is on base with his very own room and his very own computer, we have the opportunity currently before us."

Two days ago, Nate emailed, asking Ray to be available for this Hangout at this time. No attachments, no explanation, no other information except whatever possibilities Ray wanted to read into Nate's cryptic _Brad and I would both appreciate it if you could do this. We hope it'll prove worth your while._

Whatevs. Ray had the time, so here they are: foshizzlemyrizzle, gofickyourself, and theicemancometh, three little gmails all in a row. 

"Yes," Ray says. "This oh-so-mysterious opportunity. Will one of you douchenozzles enlighten me as to why I am included in what I assume is your regularly scheduled check-in, jerk-off online homo hour?"

Nate smiles again. "That's it exactly," he says, and he's making that face where Ray's not sure if he's reining in a laugh.

"We thought we'd ask you to join in on this week's jerk-off online homo hour," Brad chimes in, blasé, like he's asking Ray to pass the dip.

"Wait, WHAT?!" Ray squawks, because seriously. Come the fuck on. There is _no way_ Brad (!) and Nate (!!) are propositioning him for some kind of kinky cyber threeway.

Only it... uh... it seems like they are, because Nate says, "We're six months into an eight-month tour, and there are only so many ways to keep video chat sex new and interesting." He sounds like he's laying out steps in some wacked-out logic proof of sex, and Ray has to interrupt with,

"I swear to god, if the next word out of your mouth is 'ergo', I am signing out of this goddamn chat and dealing with my dick by myself without letting either of you two perverts watch."

"Ray." That's Brad's growl, a sound Ray is exceedingly familiar with. And that's Brad's focused face taking over the main chat window. Only this time Brad's growl sounds hot (who the fuck are we kidding, Brad's growl has always sounded hot), and his focus is on Ray in a way that makes Ray wonder if Brad's learned how to rip people's clothes off long-distance like that freaky psychic _Men Who Stare at Goats_ shit.

"Ray," he repeats, and maybe Ray wouldn't so much mind his clothes being psychically ripped off. "Are you in?"

"What the fuck?" Ray asks indignantly. "When man is faced with the age-old choice: jerk off to pre-recorded internet porn or jerk off to live, participatory internet porn, man should avoid being a fucking idiot. Of course I'm in!"

Brad's mouth curls up at one side. He reaches out to tilt his screen, and Ray is treated (and ain't it a helluva treat) to the view of Brad Colbert in a worn USMC t-shirt, regulation black briefs, and nothing else.

"Good," Brad says, low and lusty. "I'm glad you're in." He leans back in his chair and drops a hand to his cotton-covered crotch. "I've been thinking about this for a while," he purrs and kneads at his dick in a way Ray's own dick really enjoys.

The main window switches from Brad to Nate as Nate's voice chimes in. "Me, too," he says, and shit, he's kneeling on his bed, stripped down to boxer briefs, and it looks like he hasn't let himself go much at all since he left the Corps.

"It was my idea to invite you," Nate continues. "Bet you wouldn't have guessed that, huh?" He's smirking lazily at the camera. It's a good look on him.

Ray's got to admit that yeah, he's surprised it was Nate's idea. Sure, Operation Iraqi Eyefuck was the stuff of legend, and he's glad Brad and Nate don't have to worry anymore about DADT ruining their Forever Love. But there was also an undeniable connection that crackled like a live wire between himself and Brad through those weeks in the desert.

"No," he answers honestly, lust-struck as Nate plucks at a nipple and looks provocatively toward the camera. "I was pretty sure it was Brad who couldn't get enough of his Ray-Ray."

Nate keeps playing with himself as Brad's window takes back the main screen. "I did want to fuck you back then," Brad says, leering at the camera. His dick is visibly hard in his underwear. "If only to get you to shut up for ten seconds."

"Oh no," Ray assures him. "You're about to find this out for yourself, but I most _definitely_ don't shut up when I'm gettin' some." He jerks his shirt off over his head and is gratified to see Brad's cock jump in his briefs.

"We were counting on it," comes Nate's voice along with his picture taking over the main window. Sometime while Ray was distracted looking at Brad, Nate got naked. Damn!

"How 'bout you tell us if you ever thought about this before," he says, but before Ray can speak, he adds, "But take off the rest of your clothes first."

"Fuckin'-A, yes sir," Ray says, complying hastily and scooting back on his bed, leaving the computer on the nearby table.

"Hold the 'sir' for another time," Nate says. It's not an uncomfortable 'I'm a civilian now, please call me Nate'. More like 'Me and Brad have all kinds of military roleplay fun you haven't even _dreamed_ of'. There's a fucking stellar mental image.

"Come on, Ray," Nate coaxes. "Don't get distracted now. You look so good: naked, getting hard for us. Tell us if you thought about what we do."

"Yeah," Ray breathes. "Yeah, I did. Thought about it back in country. Whether you were sneaking around breaking regs, panting after each other too much to not get off together every chance you could."

He splays his legs out straight now, leans back on one hand, lets the other circle his cock lightly, keeps looking at the camera. "Did you? Did you fuck each other silly before we were back stateside?"

"No," Brad says, taking over the big window again. "We didn't do anything 'til Nate was out. But oh, did I want to." He closes his eyes as his hips buck into his hand.

"Panties are getting mighty tight, there," Ray says, not at all surprised that his voice is starting to come out husky. "Take 'em off," he urges. "Whip it out, Colbert. Show us your monster cock."

Brad frowns. "Not a sexy phrase, Ray," he says, but he lifts his hips enough to work his briefs down to mid-thigh, and it might not be a sexy phrase, but it sure as hell is an accurate one. Brad is _hung_.

Ray shares his observation with the class, and Nate's laughter brings his window to the main frame.

"It's true," he agrees. "Feels good up inside," he hums, and Ray can see him stroking himself slowly with one hand while the other moves around behind him.

Well good goddamn, this is getting deliciously porntastic mighty fucking quick.

"Bet it does," Ray says, urging Nate on. "Used to think about him giving it to you."

"Used to, when?" Nate asks, grunting this soft, hot little sound as he pretty obviously gets a finger inside himself.

"Started in Iraq," Ray says, allowing himself some additional friction on his dick that's now full-on hard. "Then some more when we were back," he adds, vaguely and ironically embarrassed.

But embarrassment dissolves when Nate arches his back beautifully between his own two hands and demands, "When was the last time you thought about it?"

Ray swallows. "Couple days ago," he admits. Oh well. In for a confessing-your-jack-off-fantasies penny, in for a might-as-well-make-it-good pound.

"Thought about you facing the headboard on your knees," he says, and fails miserably at choking down his groan as Nate gives the camera a sly smile and turns his body to do just that, which gives Ray a prime view of where Nate's got two fingers in his hole, rocking shallowly.

"Holy shit!" Ray sputters.

"Keep going," Nate prompts.

"Uh... yeah. Right, so Brad's got you kneeling, braced on the headboard, and you're already prepped, but only just. And he's pressing his dick in you for that first stretch where you think it'll never fit, it's too big, too much."

On screen, Nate shoves his fingers in deeper and moans. Ray keeps up his own slow, firm stroke, more than a tease but no way he's ready to get off and have this done with yet.

"Keep going," Brad rumbles, and when his window takes over the screen, he's got his shirt shoved up and he's scratching at a nipple with one hand, while the other works the head of his dick slow and hard.

"Tell us how you want me to fuck him," Brad demands, and the moan Nate lets out at that is loud enough to bring his window back to the main frame.

"You'd go in slow," Ray says, breath coming quick in a way he knows the speakers are picking up. "But then you wouldn't wait. You'd just start fucking, slow and then faster and then slow right when you'd both get too close."

Nate's braced one hand against the headboard in front of him and is fucking himself fast on his fingers. Ray stares at the in-out rhythm of slick skin (when the hell did he get the lube out?) and firms up his own hand to feel the rub and drag.

"Come join us, Ray," Nate pants, craning his head around to turn his flushed face to the camera. "Where would you be?"

Oh fuck. This is so hot it's unreal.

"Up at the top of the bed with you sucking my dick," he grits out.

"Fuck!" Brad grunts, bringing his window up again. Ray can see he's jerking himself full out now, head back and hips shifting into every stroke. "Do it," he groans. "Keep going. He sucks cock like a pro. Tell us."

Ray watches Brad jack himself and gives in, speeding up his own rhythm to match. OK, so this is isn't going to last much longer.

"Fuckin' mouth like that, I'm not surprised," Ray groans. "Go on, Nate," he adds. "Sucking me off so sloppy wet. Moaning for it. No rhythm, cuz Brad's still fucking your ass fast, then slow. Keeps shoving you onto my dick. Down deep in your throat where it feels like fuckin' bliss."

Ray's going at himself like a race to the finish now, and Brad and Nate keep moaning and cursing and grunting so their images flicker back and forth in the main window, flashes of hand and cock and ass and sweat that make Ray want to _come_.

"Finish it, Ray," Nate begs raggedly, writhing on his fingers, his other hand now a blur on his dick.

"Tell us how we come," Brad adds in a throaty burr.

Ray cries out, his approaching orgasm compressing like a spring at the base of his spine. Almost there.

"You lose control and just... in and in and in 'til you nut." Brad does, like he's following orders, streaking come across his stomach, muscles spasming repeatedly as each wave hits him.

"Can he come without anyone touching his dick?" Ray pants at Brad.

Brad nods, and Jesus Christ, the idea of it is so hot it almost tips Ray over the edge right then and there.

So. Fucking. Close.

But Nate is still moaning for it, as worked up as Ray, and Ray wants _so badly_ to be the one who makes him come. "S'okay, Nate," he rasps. "S'enough. Brad's dick in you, hitting you just right over and over. Makes you come."

Nate doesn't. Not until Ray goes on, "And when you're coming, you swallow on my dick and I pull out and blow all the fuck over your pretty fucking face. Fucking _fuck_."

It comes out rough and rushed, but it makes Nate gasp "Motherfucker!" all tight and breathy and double over as his body ripples through its release. That's what finally makes Ray lose it, collapsing to his back, come spurting who-the-fuck-cares-where.

It's a couple minutes before Ray's able to focus on the murmur of Brad and Nate talking on his computer.

"– we kill him?" Nate asks.

And Brad answers, "Person's harder to kill than you might think with how scrawny he is."

Ray waves one arm weakly in the air to flash his middle finger at the screen. "Fuck off, Colbert," he says, and pushes up on his elbow to see Nate and Brad peering at him from their respective chat windows. "I have categorical proof you want my scrawny ass." He swipes his middle finger through the come on his stomach, shoves it back toward the computer, then sticks it in his mouth, slurping loudly. "Suck on _that_!"

Brad shakes his head. If pressed, Ray would label that particular lopsided smile _Fond_.

Nate laughs. "We'll suck on that and more if you come visit in a couple months when Brad's home," he says, and the fucker winks into the goddamn camera.

Ray groans as his poor spent cock twitches in valiant vain. "Who the fuck are you and what have you done with my fine upstanding LT?" he laughs.

"You should forget all about that," Brad cuts in. "Nate's done things you and I and the rest of that platoon of horny societal rejects have never even thought about." There's suggestiveness in Brad's voice, but also, somehow, still that fondness.

"What can I say?" Nate adds. "Hanover's got long, cold winters."

Ray laughs.

"Seriously, though," Nate says, and there's the earnest Nate Ray remembers trusting—literally—with his life. "We both appreciate your joining us. A lot." The way he says it makes Ray feel like he just saved the man's baby from a burning building, as opposed to blowing his brains out his dick in a fucking awesome video chat threesome.

"Appreciation all around," Ray says, meaning it.

Brad adds, "If you want to show your congenitally deformed face at our house when I'm done with my tour, I suppose we could show you a small amount of appreciation in person, you little homunculus."

No fooling, that makes Ray's chest go warm and squishy. He offers back, "Why, Iceman, you _do_ care," in falsetto like Disney Snow White, that hot little minx. Then, in his own voice, "Uh... yeah. Maybe I'll drop by sometime."

Nate grins. Not leering or lascivious. Just... happy. There goes the warm and squishy again.

"This is going downhill fast," he says. "I liked this chat when it was Fuckhot Threeway Gay Pornoville. I did _not_ sign on for a trip to Hairbraiding 101 Tell Me All Your Secrets Girltown. I'm signing out so you two can have afterglow pillow-talk time all to yourselves."

Nate snorts. Brad makes a shoo-ing gesture toward his camera.

Ray hovers his hand over his mouse, adds, fast as he can, "This was hardcore awesome and thanks for the invitation and seriously let me know when Brad gets back," and clicks his browser window closed before anyone can respond.

He looks down at himself: a sweaty, come-streaked mess and laughs out loud. He punches both fists up in the air, shouts, "WINNING!", and falls back onto the bed.

Seriously. That was the motherfucking best.


End file.
